A VIOLET in her lovely hair,
A rose upon her bosom fair!
— — But O, her eyes
A lovelier violet disclose,
And her ripe lips the sweetest rose
— — That's 'neath the skies.

A lute beneath her graceful hand
Breathes music forth at her command:
— — But still her tongue
Far richer music calls to birth
Than all the minstrel power on earth
— — Can give to song.

And thus she moves in tender light,
The purest ray, where all is bright,
— — Serene, and sweet;
And sheds a graceful influence round,
That hallows e'ndash the very ground
— — Beneath her feet!